Chapter 1

• Ava's POV
• Everyone thought I’d been chasing Lucas Carter for five years.
• They had no idea that for those five years, I was his secret fiancée.
• At Lucas’s birthday party, his childhood friend Emma Hil teased me in front of everyone.
• “Ava, if you keep this up, Lucas will get tired of you. Want me to set you up instead?”
• Lucas slung an arm over Emma and laughed. “Stop. She embarrasses easily.”
• “She’s been my little sister for years. I'll find her someone,” he added quickly.
• I kept my gaze steady, lifting my glass. “No need. I’m getting married next month.”
• …
• For three seconds, the ballroom stilled…
• Emma’s smile froze.
• Lucas's hand stopped mid-air. He looked up at me.
• “Ava Brook, what did you say?”
• I set my glass down, my voice flat. “I said, I’m getting married next month.”
• A low murmur rippled around us.
• “Ava’s getting married? To whom?”
• “She wouldn’t just find some rando to piss off Lucas, would she?”
• “She chased Lucas for five years. No way she can just let it go like that…”
• Lucas’s brows pulled together sharply. The easygoing look vanished.
• He let go of Emma and stepped toward me.
• “Ava, don’t.” His voice dropped, a warning in it. “We’ll talk at home.”
• Home—that word.
• A word I knew by heart.
• For five years, every time I tried to define us in public, he’d repeat the same lines.
• 'We’ll talk at home.'
• 'Don’t make a scene.'
• 'Why can’t you act like an adult?'
• Then once we were home, he’d smooth it over with a kiss, a meal, and a 'That’s not what I meant.'
• And yet, next time, his arm would still be around Emma, saying he only saw me as a sister.
• I looked, smile razor-thin. “Lucas, I’m not making a scene.”
• “I’m getting married on the twenty‑eighth next month. The invites are already out,” I announced, lifting my chin.
• “If you want to come, have some champagne with us. Celebrate,” I added, twisting the knife.
• Lucas’s face darkened. His eyes grew cold and annoyed as he assessed me.
• “Ava, what do you want?”
• “You want me to admit in front of everyone that you’re my fiancée?” he snapped, voice cutting through the noise. “You know this kind of thing can’t be rushed. I told you—”
• “Mr. Carter.” I cut him off, my tone clipped.
• It was the first time I’d called him that. Not Lucas. Not baby.
• Mr. Carter.
• His face went stiff.
• I said, “My fiancé’s name is Arthur—Arthur Morgan. You’ve probably heard of him."
• With pride slipping into my voice, I told him, "He’s busy, but he said he’ll handle our wedding.”
• “So, Mr. Carter, you don’t need to find me someone reliable,” I muttered as a smile curled on my lips.
• I met his gaze, voice steady. “I already have one.”
• The ballroom erupted.
• Lucas stood there, stormy.
• He stared at me, lips shaky and speechless.
• I turned and grabbed my bag.
• “Happy birthday, Carter,” I said, my tone casual.
• Finally, I turned away. “I’m heading out.”
• I’d taken two steps when Emma’s voice rang out behind me.
• “Ava, don’t go.”
• She hurried after me, that usual innocent smile on her face.
• “This fiancé you mentioned—we haven’t even met him.” Emma's eyes narrowed.
• “You didn’t just make someone up to get under Lucas’s skin, did you?”
• She leaned in, voice low, too friendly like she was whispering to a sister, “Ava, sis, I get it. I really do.”
• “Lucas is so damn dense. You chased him for years, and he never bit. Anyone would be crushed."
• Emma tapped my arm. "But you don’t have to gamble your whole life just to spite him.”
• “What if you really marry the wrong guy?” she said, acting concerned.